


Waiting

by souh



Series: Life, Death, and what comes After [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/souh/pseuds/souh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time has only ever had one meaning here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this one entirely on you, Lesleigh. Thank you.

Time has only ever had one meaning here.  There are no dates, there are no hours.  There just is and there is not.  There is a hollow emptiness, and there is feeling.  A deep, scratched, feeling, itching and tender.  There’s a word for it, but he doesn’t know it right now. 

There is something…not.  Something is not here that should be.  There is something missing.  Something…someone…somewhen…somewhere?

There is a sound here.  It’s the brushing of skin on skin and the distant laughter of joy and, he thinks, his name, if he could recall it. 

Tick………………..………………..tick………………..………………..

~~~~~~~J&I, I&J~~~~~~~

 There is a jacket.  And a suit.  He thinks the suit is his.  It fits, made for him.  But the jacket…the jacket is not his but it IS his.  The faded, worn patches are nothing he thinks he would ever wear, but, when he dons it he is…he feels as though he were standing on the threshold of home, HIS home.  It’s a warm, quiet, joy-touched feeling.  It’s a breathless hug, a devil-may-care smirk.  It’s words upon words, almost audible.

He doesn’t know when they appeared.  They just simply were not, and then simply were. 

Tick………………..…..tick…………..………..tick……………..……..

~~~~~~~J&I, I&J~~~~~~~

The pockets of the jacket are almost full now.  It’s a weightless burden, though.  His fingers gently caress the worn diary, empty of visible words, with a feeling of well used paper and full of fond, blank feelings. 

A chocolate bar and a tie, wrapped hastily in the inside pocket of the jacket, the mere thought bringing a bittersweet flush to his skin.  Somehow, though, it feels like the bar is wrapped in a sorrowful loving feeling, and yet the inside a blossoming, beautiful feeling.  A small mystery.

Most recently, most deeply, suddenly is, appeared a stopwatch.  Ten minutes.  Ten minutes of unmoving eternity.  A second lasting infinity.  It was not time yet, the moment had already passed, was still to be, was stuck, forever, in this hollow place filled with memories he could almost grasp, could almost feel, so deeply, so desperately. 

Tick……………..tick.…………....tick…….…..…..tick………………

~~~~~~~J&I, I&J~~~~~~~

He could feel it now.  TIME.  It passed in invisible moments.  It passed in love and sadness and joy and laughter and desperation.  It brushed by him as fingers in his hair, a beloved face holding him close, caressing his cheek, as he stood as he had since the beginning, feet planted firmly. 

He was waiting.  For something, someone, somewhen.  For that second of time to pass and take him with it. 

Tick…..tick.…...tick…..tick…...tick.…...tick…...tick……

~~~~~~~J&I, I&J~~~~~~~

It was moving now, the watch.  He could almost hear it, almost see it.  If he just kept watching, perhaps it would.  If he just wished hard enough, maybe these voices would become clear, this time move forward.  Almost is and is not.  Almost both.  Ending and beginning at the same time.  Right at that precipice.  Closing his eyes, hand around the stopwatch that he loved so dearly, he held his breath and waited.  Love.  Silence.  Joy….the smell of coffee?

Tick.

“Ianto”,  a breathy, beautiful sound.

Tick.

Moments pass before him, beautiful and sad and angry and joyful and despairing.  Footsteps ringing out loud and clear behind him.

Tick.

“Ianto”, a teasing, hopeful, strong voice and he turns slowly, almost afraid to open his eyes, unwilling to see anything other than that lopsided smile and adorable dimples and those eyes that held him with in them, with such love.  So much love.

Tick.

One step forward.  Two.  Towards him.  His something, his someone, his everywhen.

Tick

“You’re late, Jack.”


End file.
